


The Reckoning of Susan Amelia Bones

by ebbet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexuality, Blood and Gore, Cheating, Coming Out, Cussing, Divination, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson Friendship, F/F, Forgiveness, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, LGBTQ Female Character, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbian Character, Not Epilogue Compliant, Self Confidence, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Slytherin Redemption, Somewhat Epistolary, but the cheating is only in the first chapter, only a little bit of blood mentioned not super plot-important, though is there really a plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-11-07 13:51:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20818343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebbet/pseuds/ebbet
Summary: Susan is perfectly happy with her job, her boyfriend, and her life. But things are about to change. For the better, as it turns out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's a work in progress! Will be updated whenever. Love your ideas and suggestions, here or on Tumblr, where I'm also @ebbet.
> 
> Also completely unbeta'd, so let me know of any errors, whether of grammar or continuity.

Susan Amelia Bones took a deep breath and hitched her backpack over one shoulder. Her ponytail was lumpy, her cardigan had pills, and the sole of her left boot was about to come detached. But she’d never been happier. The plants had responded well to the potion she’d brewed and she was going to Michael’s for dinner. Her life couldn’t have been better.

“Bye, Louise!” she called to her lab manager. The older witch looked up from her seedlings and nodded. Susan hoped she’d remember to eat dinner. But Fred would be calling for her around six, the way he always did; he knew his wife got pulled into her work and couldn’t quite free herself. Susan smiled at Louise’s bent head. 

She headed to the office Floo—she’d never been quite able to manage apparition after the splinch—and threw a handful of powder in. 

“Seventy-four Beckham Lane,” she called into the fireplace as she stepped inside. A few seconds later, she was tumbling out onto Michael’s rug. The flat was silent. He must be out, even though they’d planned on getting dinner together. He’d said the dinner was important. Maybe he was out getting flowers. Or even a ring? They’d only been together a year and a half, but Susan’s had two toothbrushes and a drawer in Michael’s dresser. 

She flopped down on his sagging couch and picked some of the pills off her sweater. Michael didn’t really care what she looked liked—once he’d said she looked comfortable. And that was a good thing, she thought. Because she was comfortable. 

Then Susan heard something. A sort of squeaking? Untangling her legs, she rose. It sounded like it was coming from Michael’s bedroom. Maybe his rat (Cheeseball, she thought, and rolled her eyes at the name) needed some more water. She bent, unlaced her boots, and left them by the Floo. He was always so particular. She’d never noticed it at Hogwarts, but over the past six months he’d become more and more tidy. Or rather, he wanted her to be more tidy. He didn’t seem to mind his own idiosyncratic methods of laundry or dishwashing. But Susan’s stuff was always in the way, or she’d spilled something onto the carpet and even though she’d clean it with magic, Michael would pout. 

She padded in her wool socks down the hardwood hallway and paused. The squeaking was getting louder. And there was thumping?

Susan pushed open the door and stopped.

There was Michael, long pale back with dimples right above his bum, and his floppy golden hair—and he was clearly fucking whoever was on the bed.

Who was definitely not Susan.

“Oh, Corner,” the woman on the bed moaned. “Fuck.”

Susan cleared her throat.

Michael’s head whipped around and the blood drained from his face. 

“Susan—” he said, pulling himself out of the person on the bed, who sat up and Susan saw quite clearly that it was Pansy Parkinson. Who she hadn't seen since Hogwarts. 

She’s quite pretty, Susan thought, and felt very far away. 

“Corner, what the fuck?” Pansy said. “You said you weren’t seeing anyone.” She began searching for her clothes among the bedding. The bedding that Susan had just washed with a lavender detergent she’d picked up at the muggle farmer’s market. 

Michael’s head whipped back and forth between the two of them. 

“Sus, I can explain—Pansy, don’t go.”

Pansy had pulled on her skirt and stood there, glaring at Michael. She wasn’t wearing a top. Susan shivered.

“Fuck you, Corner,” Pansy said. “You don’t get either of us.” She pulled on a sweater, grabbed Susan’s hand, and dragged her down the hallway.

Susan wasn’t quite sure if she approved of this, but she seemed unable to open her mouth.

Michael ran down the hall after them while attempting to pull on a pair of pants and he crashed into the wall while yelling their names. He skittered out into the living room as Pansy pushed Susan gently onto the couch. 

Susan was floating. 

Pansy kicked her boots closer to her. 

She reached towards them, but her fingers felt numb. It felt like she was dying. Her heart hurt. Like, it agonizingly ached and pounded and it was going to kill her, but she couldn’t say anything because her throat had closed up as well. 

“I was going to break up with her,” she heard Michael saying as he reached for Pansy’s hand. “She’s so boring and good and you’re—”

“Don’t fucking touch me, Corner,” Pansy yelled, yanking her hand back. “And don’t fucking drag Susan into this. You’re a piece of shit.” 

Susan sat on the couch. 

“Right,” Pansy said, and grabbed Susan’s boots and Susan’s arm and steered her into the Floo. 

Then they were somewhere that was quite warm, and Susan saw the ground coming towards her very quickly and then it went black.

* * *

When she came to, she turned her head into soft white carpet. It was very quiet here. But she could hear two people arguing. Susan closed her eyes again. Maybe this nightmare would be over soon and she’d just wake up. 

She felt a shadow pass over her and smelled a spicy perfume. _Fine_, she thought. _In for a penny, in for a pound. _

Pansy Parkinson was kneeling over her, wand out. Susan didn’t even scramble backwards. 

_If she wants revenge, fine, _she thought abstractly. _I won’t be the last of the Bones to die at the hands of a Parkinson. _

But Pansy just sighed and tucked her wand back into her sleeve. “Phew, glad you’re awake,” she said, sitting back on her heels. Susan took a moment to sit up, pushing herself back against the white leather couch. 

“Juice?” she continued, as though Susan were a welcome visitor. At Susan’s nod, she levitated a glass of pumpkin juice over. Susan gripped it tightly and hoped she wouldn’t drop it all over this nice white carpet. She took a sip. It didn’t taste off. 

There were long-acting poisons. Aunt Amelia would have told her to check. But she wasn’t even quite sure where her wand was. 

Pansy gestured towards her backpack. “Do you want your wand?”

_Is she a Legilimens? _Susan shook her head and kept drinking her juice. It was fresh. 

Pansy was sitting on her heels, picking absently at her fishnet stockings and twirling her rings. Susan could tell she was trying not to watch her. But Pansy kept flicking her lined eyes up towards Susan and then flicking them away. 

As though Susan wouldn’t notice. Her blood started to get a bit hot. Fucking her boyfriend was one thing, but thinking she was a fucking idiot? 

“So,” Susan said at last, setting the empty glass down on what looked like it was once Pansy’s school trunk. “How come you were fucking Michael?”

Pansy’s face paled. 

“I’m so, so, so sorry,” she whispered. “I had no idea he had a girlfriend. He said the two of you were together at Hogwarts but you’d broken up a few months ago because you wanted to get a masters in Herbology in Sheffield and he’d gone to work for the Ministry, and—”

Susan tilted her head. She seemed actually sorry. 

“How long has it been going on?” She felt quite clinical. She had to know when she’d have to go back to and cut out her own memories. Her own heart.

Pansy chewed on her bottom lip. She had red lipstick on her teeth when she opened her mouth to talk again. “Three weeks?”

Susan hummed slightly and said, “Where are my boots?”

Pansy scrambled to her feet. “They’re right there, near your rucksack.” She pulled her skirt down at the hem and backed away from Susan. _Like she was scared. _

Susan leaned forward and pushed herself to her feet, and then the world wobbled a bit and Pansy was screaming and then there were four sets of hands pushing her back onto the white couch and putting her legs up and someone else was putting a cold cloth on her forehead and then she was slowly coming back and blinked and realized that Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson were tending to her. 

_Have I fallen through some rabbit hole? _She wondered and blinked up at both of them.

“Yes,” she said, apropos of nothing.

They exchanged looks. 

“I’m fine,” she said, but didn’t feel like moving would be a good idea.

“Susan,” Draco Malfoy said slowly, “I think you’re having a vasovagal reaction. It’s completely fine and normal in—” he glared at Pansy— “stressful situations. Your body has decided to shut down a bit, and now you just need to rest and drink some liquids.”

Pansy was back to gnawing at her lip, and she rushed off and returned with another glass of pumpkin juice and another of water. They had an argument back and forth about straws (“Draco, we don't have straws! Are you sure she needs one?” “She’ll spill it all down her front, you daft cow. Just transfigure something!”) and then Draco Malfoy was helping Susan sit up slightly and placing a straw between her lips. 

She drank the juice and the water and stared at them.

Draco looked mostly the same. His hair was less shellacked. But his chin was still pointy and he hadn’t grown into his ears. He wasn’t very attractive. But he did have calming hands, Susan thought, as he replaced the cold towel on her neck. 

She took another look at Pansy, who was chewing on her lip again. Morgana, it would be bloody at this rate. 

She couldn’t find it in her head to feel any kind of anger at the other woman. The Other Woman. She couldn’t even really be angry at Michael. He was apparently a tosser who had tricked her into believing that she was enough. Which she clearly wasn’t. Not for him. Not, like, in general. She was definitely enough.

Susan blinked slowly and took the biscuit Draco proffered her.

“How do you know about vas … er, whatever … reactions, Malfoy?” she said at last. 

He looked down and blushed a bit. “I’m studying to be a nurse.” There was a pause. “A Muggle nurse.”

Susan’s eyebrows raised.

“I know,” Pansy said with an eyeroll. “Literally the most unlikely person to be a nurse. He’s gotten this whole savior-complex now, well, maybe since forever, but now it’s like, weirdly coming out in this way—”

“Pansy, shut up!” Draco hissed.

“That’s nice,” Susan said at last. “Going to do some good, then.”

Draco shrugged and handed her another biscuit. “Want a cup of tea?” She nodded and he padded away, into the kitchen.

Pansy had perched herself on the arm of the sofa. Susan looked a bit closer and could see that her eyes were red. 

“Live here together?” 

“Yep.”

Susan rubbed the edge of her cardigan between two fingers. “Are you like, dating?”

Pansy let out a short bark of a laugh. “Bones, no, Draco’s very gay. And I’d never cheat on someone—I’m not like—didn’t know—” She broke off and started biting her lip again. Susan let the silence stretch out. 

“Slytherins are loyal,” Pansy said finally. “I’d never do something like that knowingly.”

Susan shrugged. “Hufflepuffs are supposed to be loyal, too.”

She narrowed her eyes at the edge of her cardigan and muttered, “Michael’s only loyal to his dick, though.”

And Pansy began laughing. Properly laughing, like crying-laughing, wiping her eyes and thank Merlin, she’d stopped biting her lip for a minute.

When she subsided, Pansy took a long look at Susan and said, “You’re quite funny.”

Susan shrugged and went back to fiddling with her cardigan.

“This is such a weird situation,” Pansy said. “You’re so calm?”

Susan laughed. “I’m obviously not that calm if I’m fainting every other minute.” Pansy looked abashed again and went back to biting her lip.

Draco returned with a tray of tea things. Susan took her tea with three sugars, earning a raised eyebrow from Draco, and curled up in the corner of the couch with her sweet brew. _What a strange day, _she thought, watching the steam rise from the mug. Drinking tea out of a mug with Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson. And apparently she didn’t have a boyfriend anymore.

They sat in a strangely companionable silence. Then Pansy said, “We’d better get you home, then,” and helped Susan lace up her boots and into her coat. Draco kissed her on the cheek and said, “Send me an owl if you feel worse, alright?”

And then they were Flooing back to Susan’s little flat. When she and Pansy tumbled out of the fireplace, Susan had a sudden wish that she’d attempted to clean a bit. Her flat was the opposite of Pansy and Draco’s sterile, white home. Here, there were piles of books and plants all over and wild tangles of yarn and feathers drifting through the air and her owl Eris was screaming—he’d expected a mouse far earlier than nine—and there was somehow cat fur all over the couch? 

Her tabby Agatha watched the two of them from her perch near the bookshelf. Pansy had looped her arm around Susan’s waist for the Floo, and now she was untangling herself and edging backwards.

“Sorry it’s such a mess,” Susan said, but it came out a bit harsh.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Pansy said, “My room’s much worse. Draco’s the one who keeps the main areas tidy. Well, Draco and his elf Watson. God, you should have met Watson. He was probably asleep. He wakes up at like four am to bake bread.” She broke off and started chewing her lip again.

“I’ve never had an elf,” Susan said. “Or, worked with one,” she said, realizing that elves were no longer to be spoken of as property since the Granger reforms had shaken up society. Her mind was still catching up to some of the new words and phrases that were politically correct.

“Merlin, I’m so dumb,” Pansy said. “I didn’t mean to like, you know, I don’t know.” She groaned softly to herself and twisted her hands.

Susan tilted her head. She was truly confused by Pansy’s agitation. “It’s fine. We just never had one. Fuck, I mean, we never employed one.”

Pansy’s mouth quirked. “I know, I’m still getting used to it too. Anyway, Watson is lovely and Draco and I are blessed that he wanted to stay with us. You’ll have to meet him next time. You could talk about—” she waved one hands around— “plants and things. He’s a lot of herbs.”

Susan looked around at her plants, half-surprised that Pansy had noticed them. 

“So you want to hang out?” she said, wanting to clarify the situation.

“I mean,” Pansy was biting her lip again. “If you would. I know it’s awful. But you seem really cool and lovely and I’m so sorry about earlier, I really didn’t know, but I don’t have that many friends, and I’d love to be your friend, and Merlin, I should shut up.”

_In for a penny, _Susan thought again. The evening, post-Michael, hadn’t been that bad. And she couldn’t really fault Pansy for fucking Michael in the first place. He really was quite hot. And a malicious, lying twat. But his abs. She shook her head to dislodge the image.

“Yeah, that’d be fun,” Susan said. “Not that like, today was fun. But you seem fun.”

“Great!” Pansy said and beamed.

Susan knew there was probably a polite way to ask this but she was getting tired and so she just said, “So do you work or have some kind of a schedule?”

“I’m, um, interning with a local Seer, but the schedule is really up in the air?” 

Susan took a step backwards. “I didn’t know you had the Sight.”

“Uh,” Pansy said and was twisting her hands again. “I do. But it’s not very good, or helpful. I just get these random like moments that come to me but they don’t really indicate like, how to get there or what’s happening super well, but I’m like—” she broke off again and continued in almost a whisper. “I saw you once. Like, with me. In some bookstore.”

“What?!” Susan said. “Are you trying to be my friend just because you had some kind of premonition?!”

“No!” Pansy yelped. “Like, I just know it’s going to happen at some point. I don’t know that we’re friends in the future or anything, but you always seemed nice at school and your braid was always cool and then this whole Michael thing happened—which, by the way, the Sight offered me absolutely no insight into—and, well, I don’t know.”

Susan took a deep breath. 

“I’m not very good at Seeing,” Pansy said in a whisper. “That’s why my parents thought it would be helpful to train with someone who is.”

“Well,” Susan said with a sigh. “That’s a lot to take in, but like, fuck it. Let’s be friends. Let’s do it.”

Pansy’s entire face lit up. 

Susan held up one finger. “I don’t care that you have the Sight or like, half-Sight or whatever. Just don’t tell me about anything you see me in, ok? I don’t want to know.” She tugged on the end of her ponytail and continued, “I had all these ideas about the future, and now it seems like things are going to be different, and I just want to like, see for myself, ok?”

Pansy was nodding with a serious expression on her face. “Yes, right, I won’t say anything.”

“Cool,” Susan said. “Right.”

Pansy laid one hand on her arm. “You seem tired. I’ll go. Just send me an owl?”

Susan nodded again, but her ability to speak seemed to have left her.

And then Pansy darted out and wrapped her up in a hug and then dashed back to the Floo and disappeared again.

_What a day, _Susan thought as she headed to her bedroom after throwing Eris a frozen mouse. Agatha twined around her ankles as she ran a tub. 

“Well, we’ve got some changes coming, Agatha,” Susan said as she sunk into her bath. Agatha had jumped onto the toilet and watched her. “Michael won’t be coming round anymore. That’s done.”

Agatha seemed to start purring. But Susan was sure it might have just been the tap. 

_Here’s to a new sort of life. A single and wonderful one. Doing whatever I want._


	2. Chapter 2

The next week passed in silence. Susan knew she should be upset; her expectations were shattered and the perfect life she’d planned completely in the bin, but she just kept feeling a sense of relief. She went to work. Louise asked her how she was and she said, “I found Michael’s been cheating on me, so we’re no longer together.”

Louise brought her a cup of tea and a firm hug and then handed her the next potion to test on her plants.

She didn’t exactly throw herself into her work, but she did find herself staying a bit later each day, just to tire herself out. 

Pansy’s offer was still floating around in her mind. It didn’t seem right, in some ways, that they could be friends. But at the same time, who were her friends? She hadn’t seen Ernie in years, even though they kept up a correspondence that mostly revolved around his various promotions in the Ministry. Hannah had gotten engaged quite quickly after meeting a huge Belgian brewer who’d come to her pub to deliver beer. But she seemed happy. Susan wondered idly if Hannah was pregnant. 

She let the final drop of potion fall into the soil of Plant H-354B and set the bottle back on the table. Scrunching her nose, she decided that fine, she’d try to be friends with Pansy. Maybe it would work out and maybe it wouldn’t. But the only way to know would be to try.

Uncapping her pen—felt-tips were one good thing from the Muggle world—she tore off a slip of graph paper—another good thing—and wrote in her tiny, loopy handwriting: _Pansy, this is Susan. We could get dinner after I am off work, which is usually around 6. Or the weekend is fine. We could do whatever (not only dinner, that is). SAB. _

Eris, who came to work as part of Susan’s attitude that no owl should just sit around on his perch all day when he could contribute to the good of the natural sciences, recognized her folding up the paper and glided over to her lab bench. She handed him the scrap of paper and said, “Pansy Parkinson.”

She had no idea where Pansy and Draco lived. But Eris would find it. 

Less than thirty minutes later, Eris was back, holding a black-edged envelope. _Mourning stationery, _Susan thought, _how irritatingly goth_. There was even a large black wax seal on the back, pressed with two intertwined P’s. Susan snorted. _Slytherins_.

_Dear Susan, _the note read, _I would love to see you again. Let’s do this weekend? Saturday? You seem like the kind of person who would like outdoor markets. There’s one in the village near my parents’ manor (Morgana, I know. I should have just said my parents’ and left it at that). I know a perfect brunch spot in the village and then there’s a witches’ market just up the road. Wear boots you wouldn’t mind getting muddy. I shall attempt to do the same. I’ll come pick you up via Floo around 10? Yours, Pansy. _

Susan sat back in her chair and considered it. Clear, explicit plans. A time. Proposed route of transportation. Things to wear. All neatly laid out. That was more than Michael had ever done, even for anniversaries. 

Susan didn’t like surprises, even when they were supposedly good ones. 

She did like this, though. Clear expectations. 

She tore off another piece of graph paper and wrote back, _Lovely. See you 10 Sunday at mine. SAB. _

Hopefully it wouldn’t be too horrible. And maybe she’d find a good new supplier for some of the roots she and Louise needed for one of their upcoming projects. She wondered if Pansy would find that irritating, because it was work, and thus something one wasn’t supposed to one, do on the weekends (according to Michael), and two, think about on a fun outing (ditto). 

Somehow, she had a good feeling about it. 

* * *

Friday night, Susan could hardly sleep. It was always like this before new social outings. Or really, anything new. Anything that took her out of her preferred routine. Even if she’d signed up for this change. Even if she was looking forward to it.

At half-five, she gave up tossing and turning and wrapped herself in a fluffy robe to make a cup of tea. She settled back in on the sofa with Agnes and a book—_The Seventy-Four: Female Herbologists in the 19th Century—_and spent the next few hours escaping into a world where long skirts and braids indicated your social and intellectual inferiority but certain (_rich and white,_ Susan added) women were able to cultivate plants that craftier wizards had been unable to domesticate. By nine, she was starving, so she made one piece of toast with salted butter. She was already on her third cup of tea.

She dressed warmly and pulled her hair into a braid. Michael had always said braids made her look infantile. But they were comforting. Pansy wouldn’t care, she felt sure of that. Then it was slipping into her wellies, pulling up her socks over her tights, and waiting. It was only nine forty-five. 

She slipped back into the 19th century for some twenty-odd minutes, checking her watch necklace at the end of each page. 

At seven after ten, Pansy swooped out of the Floo, her hair a bit wonky.

“Morgana, Susan, I am so sorry I’m late! I overslept, and Draco usually wakes me up but he’d gone out for some reason, goodness, you’re ready already, let’s go!” Pansy had come in like a whirlwind, taking the book out of her hands, neatly dog-earing the page, setting it down on the coffee table, grabbing Susan’s hands and pulling her to her feet, smiling, smiling, smiling the entire time.

Susan nodded and followed her to the Floo. 

They came out in a pleasant little tea room.

“This is Florrie’s,” Pansy said, brushing her hair down. 

“It looks fine,” Susan said.

“Oh, it’s much better than fine,” Pansy said, waving at the waitress, who seemed to know her, and leading Susan to a cozy table near the fire.

“I meant your hair,” Susan said, a bit belatedly, after they had sat down. 

Pansy scoffed a little and pushed a menu towards Susan. “I usually get the eggs benedict unless sometimes they have a special that sounds absolutely scrumptious. But the muffins and scones are amazing. And Draco likes the porridge.”

Susan wrinkled her nose. “You can make porridge at home. Why would you get it when you’re out?”

Pansy laughed. And Susan knew they were going to be friends.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Susan had drunk far too many cups of tea was practically buzzing by the time they made it down the lane to the witches’ market, which was a bit hectic and loud for her, but Pansy kept patting her arm and dragged her through the stalls. She’d told Pansy about the roots, and Pansy had made it her mission to find them, and when they finally did, Pansy was happier than Susan about it. 

They got pasties from a cart and perched on a wall to eat them, and Susan was quite amazed. She’d never pictured Pansy Parkinson, wrapped up in a black cloak and with high black boots, licking grease from her fingers post-pasty while attempting to keep her balance on a stone wall, ribbing Susan for not wanting to see the love herbs the witches’ kept under the table and giggling when Susan called them “inaccurate tosh.” 

_It was a really lovely day,_ Susan reflected later. Pansy had even bought Agnes some treats—secretly, when had she done that?—and won over her cat when they’d Floo’d back to Susan’s. Usually people made Susan feel a bit itchy as time went on in their company. But she’d not had that all day. Curious.


	3. Chapter 3

Then she was going over to Pansy and Draco’s for Tuesday night take away and watching weird Muggle films that were supposedly frightening but what they called the “special effects” were so cheesy that the three of them would giggle as fake blood gushed out of wounds.

“It’s not even an artery,” Draco would say and roll his eyes at the dying character on the screen.

Pansy would flap her hands at him. She was always transfixed by the story. Susan reached for the curry and spooned some more into the bowl. She never got the rice-to-curry ratio quite right. Pansy was curled up on the couch next to Susan, ripping her naan into small pieces.

“You should eat it,” Susan said. “Not just play with it.”

Draco laughed as Pansy, her eyes never leaving the screen, picked up a piece of naan and fed herself. 

“She doesn’t listen to me like that,” Draco said from the armchair. 

“She’s not going to go in there alone!” Pansy shrieked. “Fuck! She’s gonna die!”

“She’s brunette, two people have already died so it’s her turn,” Susan said from around a mouthful of curry.

Pansy turned to Susan and hissed with an accusing stare, “Have you seen this before, Bones?”

Susan shrugged. “The blonde one is always the last to die.” 

“No more spoilers!” Huffing a breath that caused her bangs to fluff up and then fall down, Pansy collapsed back into the corner of the sofa and turned her attention back to the film.

Susan didn’t bother responding but reached over and took the rest of Pansy’s neglected naan. 

When they were tidying up after the film, Draco looked up at Susan while handing her a dish to dry and Susan felt that this was not an ordinary look. Pansy was out in the other room, doing something with the television. There was something more intense about Draco’s stare. _Oh goodness, _she thought, _please don’t let him flirt with me. _

“She listens to you, Bones,” he said, and turned his attention back to the sud-filled sink.

Susan made an assenting noise. “Only when I’m sensible, hopefully.”

“No, like,” Draco rinsed a plate and then set it down on the counter. Which was stupid, Susan thought, as it left a big wet spot. “She listens to you. She doesn’t listen to me. Or her parents. Or anyone since we were kids.”

Susan pursed her lips. “She listened to Voldemort for a bit,” she said, which might have been a bit harsh, but this whole thing was getting confusing. “When she tried to give Harry over.”

Draco shook his head. “No, like. She thought she had to.”

“Who thought what?” Pansy said as she swept into the room with an empty wine glass in hand. “Are you two getting cozy in here?”

Draco turned back to the sink and said, “Just some work gossip I heard about Granger.”

“Ooh,” Pansy said, pushing herself up to sit on the counter. “Do tell.”

Susan continued to dry the plate and didn’t say anything. She didn’t know Granger and Draco worked at the same hospital.

“Oh,” Draco said lightly, “Just that Granger thought that I might be fostering an insurrection on the pediatric ward during my work placement. You know, brainwashing the kids with my Death Eater ways.”

“Aren’t you a Muggle nurse?” Susan asked and handed the plate to Pansy. Who should have put it away. But she didn’t move off the counter and turned the plate around and around in her hands.

“Yes, but it’s an amalgam hospital? Like, for research purposes, we combine Muggle and wizarding therapies and treatments. So I trained as a Muggle nurse after the war—”

“Because Potter wouldn’t give your wand back,” Pansy said in a sing-song tone. 

Draco sighed. “Well, yes, my magical options were limited without a wand. But I think it’s all worked out for the best now, hasn’t it. Put that plate away, Pans, before Susan gives you a whole stack.”

Pansy wrinkled her nose and continued to sit on the counter. Susan nudged her thigh against Pansy’s knee and Pansy slid to the ground. Draco shot Susan a look. Susan took the plate and didn’t think about the heat spreading up her stomach.

“Anyway, so apparently Granger went to Biggs and was going on and on about how she was concerned that I was going to be corrupting the minors which, like, as if I have time to do that in between changing IVs and enchanting puppets, but Sheila told me that Biggs shut her down pretty quick.”

“Good,” Pansy said as she opened a cupboard and put the plate back. “You’re worth twelve of Granger.”

“Pansy,” Draco said in a warning tone. “We don’t value people like that.”

“Fine, she’s lovely, you’re lovely, she’s also a twat for thinking you’re still an arsehole who believes in blood purist shit, your jobs are all equally important, whatever.” She plucked a still-damp plate from Susan’s hands and spun back to the cupboard.

“Pans,” Draco sighed. “It was just stupid. I didn't think it would have worried you. I thought it was funny.”

Pansy turned back to them and her eyes were shining. “It’s not funny! She could have gotten you fired, just from prejudice!”

“Biggs wouldn’t fire me,” Draco said, but his fingers tightened on the edge of the sink.

“We’re not safe yet,” Pansy said and pressed her lips together.

Susan hadn’t said anything. She didn’t feel like it was her place. But this was too intense. So she opened her mouth and what came out was, “It’s changing slowly. Forgiveness just takes some people longer than others.”

They both turned to stare at her. It was like they’d forgotten she was there.

“Well,” Pansy said with a watery smile. “You’re much more forgiving than most people.”

Draco’s mouth quirked. “Luckily for you,” he said, his eyes on Pansy’s. He turned back to the sink and continued washing. The dishes clinked underwater in the silence.

Susan didn’t know what else to say. She just waited for Draco to hand her another plate. Pansy stood there watching her. Which was a bit unsettling and Susan wanted to hide but her hands were full of dish towel and she couldn’t just, like, stop drying and leave. That would be rude. But it wasn’t a terrible thing to be watched by Pansy. Just a bit odd. 

“Has Harry given your wand back?” Susan said. She’d, in fact, meant not to say that. But then it leapt out. She’d thought about asking and then thought it was inappropriate and then well, fuck. 

Draco handed her the last glass and pulled the plug out of the sink. He didn’t say anything while he watched the water spiral away. After the last gurgle, Draco said, “No.”

“Why?” Susan said.

“Because he’s a fucking cunt,” Pansy hissed, her eyes narrowed again. She was picking at her nails again. Susan looked at Pansy’s hands. Pansy pulled the sleeves of her cardigan down and fiddled with the sleeves instead.

“I haven’t written to him again to ask.” Draco rinsed the sink and reached for the kettle. “It seemed impertinent to request more of his time. I’m sure he’s got more important things to do. Besides, maybe he lost it. Or maybe he destroyed it.”

“He didn’t even write back,” Pansy said in a half-choked voice. 

_Well, that wasn’t fair at all, _Susan thought and pressed her lips together. _Mr. Potter was getting an owl later. She’d go from there._

When she left, Draco walked her to the door and gave her an unexpected hug. 

“Think about what I said,” he said cryptically, and padded back into the apartment.

Pansy gave his departing form a weird look and turned back to Susan. “You’ve got secrets from me now?” she said with a little lilt to her voice. 

“I suppose,” Susan said. 

Pansy held her arms out, and Susan inched forwards. She wasn’t used to all this touching, but it was nice to rest her head against Pansy’s and to feel secure. Held. Comforted. That was nice. It was nice to have a friend who knew how to give good hugs. 

She thought she heard Pansy sigh a little when she stepped away, but it might have been just the cold breeze that whipped along the corridor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's officially moving in a ship direction. Added the tag and everything.


	4. Chapter 4

_Dear Mr. Potter, _Susan wrote in her precise handwriting. Well, that sounded a bit formal. He’d been Harry at school. But now he was—she racked her mind—at Hogwarts again? Professor, perhaps? Doing something there, anyway. Should she address him as Professor Potter? 

Folding the sheet in half, she slid it to the side of her desk and took out another piece of graph paper. 

_Dear Harry, _she began again, after having written the date in the first row of squares on the upper right. _It has recently come to my attention that the wand of Draco Malfoy is still in your possession. Or, at least, it has not been returned to the possession of said Draco Malfoy. _

_I realize that it might be a bit odd to hear from a former schoolmate this way, but I have recently spent a lot of time with Draco and Pansy Parkinson after a strange concatenation of events brought Pansy into my life again. (A story for another time, perhaps.) He is on his work placement at the Amalgam Hospital in London as part of his training to be a pediatric nurse (the Muggle way). I believe your friend Hermione Granger is also employed there. While I believe that he chose this path because of his wandlessness, it suits him remarkably well, and I do not think he would change his career now. The rest of his life, however, would be enhanced with the return of his wand. _

She put the end of the ballpoint into her mouth and sucked on it. Was there a polite way to say what came next? Well, into the breach.

_I must tell you that I was surprised to hear that you did not respond to Draco’s letter in which he requested the return of his wand. You always seemed like a fair person, and perhaps the difficulties between the two of you run deeper than I, an outsider, could ever understand, and therefore I have nothing of merit to say regarding this situation. I do, however, believe in second chances._

_And I hope you do too. _

Yours? Sincerely? Best? Best wishes? Resume pen sucking.

Finally, she added, _Yours respectfully, Susan Amelia Bones (Hufflepuff, Class of 1999)._

She addressed the envelope to H. J. Potter, which seemed formal enough that anyone could hardly take offense for the lack of a more correct title, and sealed it with a lick. That was another good Muggle invention. Self-sealing envelopes. More tidy than sealing wax. And more secure. Eris hopped over and took the envelope into his beak.

“Harry Potter,” Susan said around the tip of her pen. “I think he’s at Hogwarts now?”

Eris warbled and skated over to the window. Which was closed. Susan got up, tucking the pen behind one ear, and unhitched the catch to let Eris into the midnight soft darkness. She watched him fly for a few moments as he looped around in the air before deciding to glide off. He was always a bit excited when things out of the routine happened. 

Shaking her head—routines were pleasant and calming—she partially closed the window and turned her attention to the room. The plants needed a bit of watering. And she couldn’t stop thinking about what Harry might say about her letter. 

If he responded at all. 

Oh, she shouldn’t think like that. He was a war hero, for Morgana’s sake, and a good person by and large, at least from the little time they’d spent together. 

While she was mumbling a few words to the jelly succulent (just urging her to put a bit more effort into her blossoms and less into her root systems) and misting water into the pot with her wand, Eris tapped on the window.

She’d left it open so he could slide in, but he was being obstinate apparently. Ah, it was because it was snowing up there. He made a show of fluffing his feathers out and shaking snowflakes all over the desk. _Owls, _Susan thought as she wiped the droplets off the wood and scratched Eris’s head. 

The letter was not large, but as she unfolded it, she noticed it was on rather heavy paper emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest. Not parchment, though. Thank goodness the wizarding world had discovered pulped paper, even if it was some time into the twenty-first century. 

The letterhead read “Harry J. Potter, Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts,” to which Susan took a moment of offense. Against was a preposition and therefore should not, according to the rules of grammar, be capitalized, even if it was a long enough word to look odd in lowercase in a title. Aesthetics be damned. Point one against Harry.

_Susan — _(not even a proper salutation, and was that an em dash?)

_I don’t know what letter you’re talking about. Malfoy never sent me anything. Or I never got anything. I’ve still got his wand and would give it back whenever he wants. But in person. I want to make sure it gets to him. _There was something that looked like “ped” crossed out at this point, but Susan didn’t spend much time deciphering it. It hadn’t been written. And therefore it was less important than what had been. 

_(Also, you absolute weirdo, of course I remember who you are. You didn’t have to put class of 1999 or whatever. Always thought we were a bit alike, you and me. Everyone dead and so on. And everyone talking about everyone being dead all the time.)_

Well, that was a bit incoherent and a bit offensive, but the sentiment was alright. And it was true that everyone they both loved or belonged to was dead and that everyone else always seemed to be going on and on about it. 

_Anyway, I’ll write to Malfoy too, _the letter continued, _but you can also show him this letter if he doesn’t believe me. Or my letter. Though I suppose there’s no reason he’d believe this either if he doesn’t believe— whatever. _

It was signed simply “HJP.” The J was a bit jagged. _Like his scar, _Susan thought, and then shook herself for the idle sentimentality.

Well, he certainly hadn’t proven her estimation to be wrong. She hoped Draco was receiving a letter similar in gist, if not in flippancy regarding dead people. Draco seemed less likely to be receptive to that kind of rambling. She was glad Harry hadn’t written anything back about the nursing. She wouldn’t have wanted Draco to know that she’d told Harry all about his career path and so on. It seemed a bit invasive, but she wanted Harry to know that his decision had severely impacted Draco’s life. But Draco wouldn’t appreciate that, she was sure.

* * *

Two days later, Susan was watering specimen H-421A with the hydrolated potion when she looked up and almost dropped her beaker. 

Pansy was in her lab.

Louise was hovering behind, holding her hands up in the air as though to absolve herself of letting in someone who, to Louise, anyway, was a complete stranger.

“Friend of yours to visit,” Louise said with a grin and stumped off to her bench.

“Hello,” Susan said. “Just let me finish pouring this.”

“Alright,” Pansy whispered. 

That was odd, Susan reflected, and she had trouble pouring steadily. She could feel Pansy’s eyes on her. But the silence that stretched between them was unusual. Pansy was always bubbling up with some topic of conversation, no matter how bizarre or inane. 

“Right,” Susan said and set down the beaker. “Why are you here?”

Pansy looked a bit startled. “I—I can leave if it’s a bad time,” she said in a small voice, beginning to bite her lip.

Susan realized that her question was, had been, accusatory. “No, no,” she said, pressing her sweating palms down on the black surface of her lab bench. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just a surprise. Not like, it’s wrong. Though it would be better if you’d warned me. But we can go for lunch, if you’d like. Also, you don’t have to whisper. It’s a lab, not a library.”

Pansy broke into a smile, then, and Susan suspected that the rest of her workday was shot. 

“Louise,” she called out, unbuttoning her lab coat, “I’m going to go off to lunch with Pansy.”

Louise’s head emerged from behind a papyrus. “Have fun, girls!”

“I finished H-421A.”

“Oh, Susan,” Louise said, “That’s a perfect place to stop anyway. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“I’m coming back,” Susan said pointedly, though Pansy had already wrapped one hand around Susan’s arm. 

Louise made an inscrutable face and waved them off. 

Susan went to the coat closet, where she changed into her boots, buttoned up her coat, put on her rucksack, and tugged her beanie down over her braids before allowing Pansy to loop her arm back into hers and drag her outside. It had started snowing again.

She took a moment to look over at Pansy, who was wrapped in an emerald green cloak that fell down to the tips of her pointed black boots. _Slytherins, _she thought, _always a penchant for green; Pansy’s just lucky it suits her._ The snow was falling in her hair. 

“You should have a hat,” Susan said. “Your ears will get cold and red.”

Pansy tilted her head back so the snow began to settle on her eyelashes. 

“I have a hood,” she said, when she re-emerged and drew the hood up over her dark bob.

“Hoods aren't as warm,” Susan said. “There’s more space where cold air can get in. All around your ears.”

Pansy giggled. “Why are you so obsessed with my ears being warm?”

_My ears are warm around you, _Susan thought and promptly blushed. “You could get pneumonia,” she said instead. Pansy shook her head and burrowed her chin into the voluminous fur collar of her cloak. 

“Why did you come to my work?” Susan said. 

“I’ll tell you at lunch,” Pansy said. “Where shall we go?”

Susan stopped on the sidewalk and mentally assembled a list of nearby possibilities. “Thai or Italian?”

Pansy hummed for a moment before saying, “Thai,” and Susan led them to her favorite restaurant. They had a good lunch deal, too. She supposed she could eat her abandoned tuna sandwich for dinner. Or tomorrow, since Louise didn’t seem to think she was going back today. It might be a bit soggy tomorrow. 

They settled into a booth and Pansy poured over the menu. She must have asked Susan twenty questions before the waiter arrived. Susan chose yellow curry and after a long discussion with said waiter, Pansy went for the pad thai. 

“I’ve never had Thai before,” Pansy whispered after he’d left. 

“Oh,” Susan said. A new thing. That was monumental. 

“This is bad, but I didn’t realize there was a Thai wizarding community here.” Pansy was back to biting her lip again. “Does that sound awful?”

“It doesn’t sound very woke,” Susan said. “But you are a bit sheltered.”

Maybe she shouldn’t have said the last bit, but Pansy laughed and crushed the paper straw wrapper between her fingers. 

“Susan,” she said in between giggles. “You always say the most amusing things.”

Susan smiled and when the waiter returned, she requested an order of the tofu salad rolls. Pansy had to try them. And the peanut sauce. And a Thai iced tea.

Pansy did not enjoy the Thai iced tea, pronouncing it “a bit too sweet,” with a little moue of distaste, to which Susan shrugged and drank the rest. Good thing it was before noon, or she’d be up into the night with all the caffeine. Morgana, she sounded old, even in her own head.

Pansy did, however, love the salad rolls and noodles and ended up eating about half of Susan’s curry, which Susan kept doling out onto Pansy’s side plate and she would just eat it up before even noticing because she was so intent on the reason she’d come to Susan’s work in the first place, which, as it turned out, was because Harry Potter had turned up that morning with Draco’s wand in hand.

Draco, who had been half-dressed at the time, slammed the door in Potter’s face and ran back into the house, apparently. 

“Didn’t he write Draco a letter?”

“He did!” Pansy said, pausing with a forkful of curry halfway to her mouth. “But Draco didn’t think it was real! It just seemed so out of the blue for Potter to write to Draco after all this time and then Draco wasn’t even wearing a top? Quite odd for Draco; he usually doesn’t answer the door without a shirt on, but then he came and woke me up by screaming, and I mean screaming, that Harry Fucking Potter was in the corridor and he didn’t know what was happening.”

“I wrote him,” Susan said. “Harry, that is.”

“What?!” Pansy gasped. “It was you?”

“Well, yes,” she said and stared down at her curry. Maybe she’d overstepped and caused this disaster. “It just didn’t seem like Harry to allow an injustice to continue.”

Pansy’s eyes widened. “Oh, Susan,” she breathed and Susan wanted to hear that again and again.

There was a moment of silence as they stared at each other. 

And then Pansy turned her attention back to her noodles and burst out, “Well, anyway, Draco was being a right tit about it and I had to go out in my dressing gown and invite Potter in and make him a cup of tea while Draco was off panicking about it and it was horribly awkward, considering the last time I saw Potter I was trying to pawn him off to the Dark Lord, er, Voldemort,” she paused and then said in a quick burst, “but I apologized and he seemed to accept it and then Draco came back out fully dressed and they just stared at each other for a bit before I thought, oh, maybe I should leave, so I got my tea and then Draco grabbed my arm in this absolute death grip so I couldn’t go anywhere and pushed me to the dining room table. And then Harry gave Draco his wand back and was like, ‘God, I’m sorry for keeping this for so long. I didn’t know you needed it, or I would have given it back sooner. I thought you’d get another wand,’ and he kind of rambled for a while about how he didn’t get a letter from Draco, maybe because he was moving around for a while or he’d been in Australia with Granger to get her parents or their memories or something, and anyway, this whole time, Draco didn’t say anything and he just let his wand sit on the table in between them. And then Harry finished his tea and was like, 'well, alright, I’ll let the two of you get back to your domestic bliss,' and I started laughing and then Draco started laughing and we were crying, like, proper crying with laughter, and Harry was all confused looking and I had to choke out, like, 'gay, mate,' about both of us, and Harry kind of seemed like …” She paused here and took a massive bite of curry while thinking. Susan could tell she was thinking. Her eyes tended to narrow a tiny bit, but not like the Narrowing of Irritation or the Narrowing of Anger. 

“Relieved, maybe? Or less confused? Anyway, Draco finally picked up his wand and tried a few spells after Harry was like, make sure it works before I leave, and they did, and then Draco looked at the time and freaked out because he was going to be late and the Floo at the hospital is always really backed up, and Harry was like, don’t worry, I’ll just Apparate us both, and then, for some reason, Draco was like, ok, and I was like, are you sure? But like, without saying it out loud, you know, but Draco went off with him and I haven’t heard anything since, so like, I’m assuming it’s good news.”

Pansy took another bite of her noodles. “Anyway, I couldn’t wait to tell you.”

Susan felt a warmth blossom in her stomach. “I’m glad it worked out,” she said, “and that Draco has his wand back.”

“I suppose Potter’s not all bad,” Pansy said. “He seemed quite determined to get Draco into his work placement on time. He was being all, I’m Harry Potter and I can Apparate anywhere, which, like,” she rolled her eyes, “Whatever, I guess he can. Fame.”

Susan hummed a little and drank some of the iced tea. 

“Anyway, I don’t have my internship today so we could go to a museum or something? Unless you have to go back to work. Though your boss was kind of like, leave. So.” Pansy let it hang in the air.

“Just this once,” Susan said slowly. “But next time, I would like advance warning. Sometimes I have more time-sensitive work.” She felt a bit bad saying it, because really, she would go to the museum or wherever Pansy wanted to go, but also, she needed her job and she liked her job and her research was time-dependent sometimes and if she didn’t say it now, it would all just fester into something bigger until it was some massive problem that she’d never brought up before so how could anyone have known unless she said something so, here she was, saying something. But it didn’t make her sound very fun.

Pansy brightened and nodded. “Next time,” she promised, “I will send advance warning when I want to take you out for lunch to celebrate good news.” She wiggled a bit in her seat.

Susan smiled back. Pansy refused to let her pay, saying it was her fault she was skiving off work and not making any money, to which Susan replied that she had a salary and had stayed late often enough, but Pansy didn’t take no for an answer so Susan nodded thankfully and let her count out the sickles.

They spent the afternoon wandering the galleries of the Harker-Ward Museum, one of the smaller London museums dedicated to art created by witches and witches alone. (Or any female-identifying magical user, as one label pointed out, because not everyone wanted to be a witch.) 

“Naked rites,” Pansy said, tilting her head at an oil painting. “They never taught us those at Hogwarts.”

“Occasionally useful,” Susan replied. “That was one of Louise’s first projects, but there’s no funding in that, so she realized pretty quickly she’d have to do something else to get grants. But still occasionally useful in plant magic.”

Pansy glanced quickly at her and then back at the painting, in which a group of nude witches danced around a bonfire. “Useful how?”

“Growth magic, mostly,” Susan said, suddenly aware of how her hands didn’t seem like they fit on the end of her arms. She wasn’t quite sure where to put them. This had happened once before, when she was forced to be in the pantomime at primary and they gave her a line and then everyone was looking at her and she didn’t know what the line was and she’d shouted, “I am not a Kneazle, I am Susan!” and everyone laughed even though it was perfectly true, and then she was jolted back to the present and said vaguely, “Fertility, you know.”

“But like, only witches?”

Susan wrinkled her nose. “What are you talking about? No one needs wizards to procreate; we’ve known that for ages.”

Pansy took a step backwards. “What?” she said, in a sort of dull tone.

“I mean, the Victorians tried to suppress that knowledge because of their whole homophobic agenda, but like, anyone with magic can develop a fetus. It’s more about desire than like, biology or whatever. I mean, we’re magic?”

Pansy looked a bit pale. “I—my father—they never said—how—I’m—”

“Here,” Susan said, taking her by the elbow and maneuvering her onto the velvet settee in the middle of the gallery. 

Pansy was still staring at the painting. And then suddenly, she burst into tears. The nearby guard looked over, but Susan shook her head and the guard merely stopped by and offered a handkerchief to Pansy, who was too busy crying to see it, so Susan took it and thanked him and he went back to another gallery. Susan handed her the handkerchief when her sobs had subsided.

“Dad always told me that if I was really, you know—”

Susan tilted her head. “Really what?”

“Gay,” Pansy said indignantly, “which I’ve always known! That wasn’t really a doubt ever. But Mother and Dad always said if I was really gay, I couldn’t have kids because you needed a wizard. To get the right balance of magic to make a baby.”

Susan frowned. “That’s not true.”

“Merlin,” Pansy said with a wet sigh. “They just wanted me to have to choose to be straight.”

She twisted the handkerchief between her fingers. “They knew how much I wanted babies. They knew!” Her voice was getting stronger and more indignant. “They wanted me to marry Draco! Even though we’re both gay!”

Susan put a hand over Pansy’s twisting fingers, which stilled. “You can have a baby with anyone you like, as long as they have magic, too. If you wanted to have a baby with a Muggle, I think it would still work if you carried it, like, I don’t think they’d have to have a semen-producing penis, but I haven’t read anything about intercultural relationships between a Muggle woman and a witch, but if you are considering this, I can look into it, and—”

Pansy looked up at Susan. Her eyes were red and her lashes clumped together with tears. She shook her head and stared intensely at Susan. “No,” she said. “I don’t think you need to research that.”

Susan blinked a few times. Pansy had quite full lips. The bottom one was redder at the center, where she tended to pull it into her mouth and press her teeth into it. But she wasn’t doing that now. She was just waiting, barely breathing.

Then the guard was at Susan’s elbow and saying, “Excuse me, miss, but I’ve got to go off now, would you mind if I took my handkerchief back?” and Pansy handed it over and Susan felt as though she’d missed something.

But hopefully the missed thing would come back again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha. I'm. It's coming along.


End file.
